


Born To Raise

by Call_Me_Mrs_Rogers



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Chris and You have a child, Dad Chris Evans, F/M, Fluff, I'm hopelessly in love, Jealous Chris Evans, Jenny Evans, Mum reader, POV First Person, Possessive Chris Evans, Reader-Insert, This is honestly just a piece of jealousy fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, XD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21597340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Call_Me_Mrs_Rogers/pseuds/Call_Me_Mrs_Rogers
Summary: Chris gets protective when your daughter's friend looks at you funny.
Relationships: Chris Evans (Actor)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	Born To Raise

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't actually planning on publishing this one, especially since I have so many outstanding works, but I think it's kinda sweet.

Hunched over a piece of cardboard, I dab my sponge at it, painting it with a deep grey, pausing to wipe my face with my wrist. A deep laugh sounds from the door and I look up to see my husband grinning over at me, humour dancing in his eyes. Rolling my eyes affectionately, I sit up on my knees and smile at him. “Home already?” I ask as he comes over to kiss my cheek. 

Not answering my question, Chris says instead, “Sweetheart you have paint on your nose.”

“Oh,” I lift my hand to wipe at it but he just laughs again. “What?”

“Let me,” he suggests. He swipes my skin with his thumb and for the millionth time I thank my lucky stars that I have a husband who still makes my skin tingle with a single touch. “What are you doing, anyway?” he asks, kneeling beside me and putting an arm around my shoulders. 

Leaning into him, I sigh and re-adjust my ponytail. “Jenny’s teacher’s a bitch,” I tell him, earning another rich laugh. 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to hate our daughter’s teacher,” he points out, to which I just raise an eyebrow. 

“Oh, can’t I?” I challenge with a playful wink. “Anyway, she’s a drama teacher and Jenny hasn’t had her in like four years. For their projects they always need someone to make the sets and stuff and on parents evening she told Jen that she’s shit at art and that she shouldn’t be making the sets. I will _not_ stand for that!” Okay, maybe I did get a bit touchy when people doubted my daughter’s creative skills, she was the daughter of an artist after all. “So when she came home and told me she had to make a gravestone I kind of went all…”

“Smother?” he finishes for me, a smile playing on his lips. I nod with a fake pout and he kisses my lip. “You’re crazy and I love it,” he tells me, pulling me onto his lap and kissing me hard, his hands threading into my hair. 

“Ew! No! Not okay!” a familiar teenage voice screeches from behind us. 

Not bothering to turn around I remind her of my life motto, “If you don’t wanna see it, walk away.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she quickly changes the subject. “Nicole and Jordan are coming over.”

Chris frowns. “Jordan Himby? I don’t like that kid.”

“How come?” I ask.

“He’s just… I don’t like him,” he answers bluntly. “Do I need a reason?”

“Yeah,” Jenny answers for me, tossing her curls over her shoulder and flouncing off to the kitchen. 

Knowing Chris like the back of my hand, I move closer to speak to him. “She’s gone. Why don’t you like him?”

He sighs heavily and nuzzles his nose into my neck. “He looks at you funny,” he murmurs into my chest. 

“What?” I laugh running my hands through his hair. “I’m sure that’s not true, the kid’s in high school.”

“Exactly. I was a teenage guy in high school,” he says. 

“I would hope so,” I tease. 

“Ha ha, very funny. But my point is that sex is the only thing 16 year olds think about,” he tells me. 

“I can’t believe she’s sixteen already, it makes me feel so old,” I whine. 

“Calm down, you’re only 36,” he reminds me. 

“It’s your fault,” I claim, and he looks up at me, shocked. “If you hadn’t been so dastardly charming I wouldn’t have had your child at 20.”

The corners of his lips turn up and he pulls me close to him again. “Stop changing the subject, you. The kid’s basically in love.”

“That’s just not true. And what about Miss Stick-up-her-ass? She so has the hots for old Captain America,” I say, nudging him lightly. 

“Yeah well she ain’t got nothing on you,” he compliments sweetly. 

“And I’m not gonna go running off with a 16 year old,” I assure him, laughter in my voice. 

“And how do I know that?” he teases. 

“Christopher Robert Evans, I’m in love with you and only you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

The kiss we share is long and sweet, melting my insides and muting my thoughts. Everything that I know in that moment in him, my beautiful, passionate, kind husband. 

Until somebody clears their throat behind us. 

Jumping away from him, I blush and scramble to stand, smoothing my hair out. 

“Mum, dad!” Jenny scolds, barley disguising the horror in her voice. “Not in front of my friends!”

It’s only then that I notice the other two teenagers lingering behind her. The first I recognise immediately as Nicole, Jenny’s best friend and the other… well the other must be Jordan. 

“Hi Mr Evans, Mrs Evans!” Nicole chirps, giving us an over enthusiastic wave which I return with a smile. 

“Hey, Nicole. How’s everything?” Chris asks politely. 

“Great,” she replies. 

The conversation hits a wall and Jenny decides to introduce her other friend. “This is my friend Jordan.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand. 

He shakes it and I can’t help but notice that his hand is quivering. “It-it’s nice to m-meet you t-too,” he stutters. 

The hand of my husband pulls me possessively back to his side and gravels, “You guys have fun, we’ll be in the living room if you need us.”

Before I can say anything else he practically drags me away. Once we’re sat on the sofas, I curl my legs underneath me and shake out my ponytail before addressing him. “Chris, what was that?”

“What was what?” he answers, batting his eyelashes innocently at me. 

“Don’t do that, I can’t be annoyed when you do that,” I tell him, trying to be serious but failing. 

“Exactly,” he wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Chris, darling, I promise you that you don’t need to be jealous of a gangly teenager, I love you. Besides, you’ve got everything I’ll ever need,” I assure him, lying down in his lap with m legs stretched out in front of me. 

“Such as…?” he asks, obviously needing his ego to be stroked and, as his wife, I will gladly do so. 

“You’re gorgeous, kind, talented and you are fine as hell!” I roll towards him so that we’re nose to chest. He hums his approval and shifts himself so we’re both lying horizontal on the couch, facing each other. 

“I love you,” he tells me, kissing my nose gently and pulling me into his chest. His fingertips trail up my thigh and I use mine to trace the words written across his collarbone, my favourite of all his tattoos. It reads, _when you lose touch with inner stillness, you lose touch with yourself. When you lose touch with yourself, you lose yourself in the world._

I feel like this sums up Chris as a person, a husband and a father. He’s always been so sure of himself, always had this inner confidence that, while it isn’t cocky, guides me through rough times. Gazing at him through lowered eyelashes, I smile seductively and bite my lip. I can feel his heartbeat quicken beneath my fingers but before anything else can happen, his phone beeps. He groans and digs it out of his pocket before taking one look at it and groaning again, standing up. “I’m really sorry, sweetheart,” he says, still glaring at his phone, “but I gotta go. The guys are in crisis mode.”

“What’s happened?” I ask, concern sliding over me, those guys were a second family. 

“Seb’s girlfriend happened,” he tells me, kissing my nose. 

“Anything I can do to help?” 

“I don’t think so, it’s guy stuff,” he answers, shrugging on his jacket and wiggling his eyebrows. Well we all knew what _that_ meant. 

“Oh really?” I raise an eyebrow and smirk. “Well you tell Seb that we all knew she wouldn’t be into it, the woman’s a strong feminist and she’s _so not the type,_ though I’m sure he is. Also, tell Anthony that there’s actually only a few women who enjoy it, it can be kinda sexist if it’s done wrong. And you mister,” I say, touching his forearm lightly, “you are _very_ lucky that I’m fine with it.”

He looks baffled as he stares at me with wide eyes. “How… how did you… how did you _know?”_ he stutters, to which I just laugh. 

“Go, baby, you’re gonna be late.” Just before he gets to the door I call out, “Oh, and a wife _always_ knows.” He turns for a second and I wink before he disappears into the night, shutting the door behind him.


End file.
